


Can't Sleep Love

by ang3lba3, Mellomailbox



Series: Real Housewives of Republic City [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blue Spirit Zuko (Avatar), Courting Rituals, Cultural Differences, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Misunderstandings, PNES, Relationship Negotiation, Relationships can be hard work, Rich boy vigilante Zuko, Seizures, not between main characters, restaurant owner Sokka, super hero AU, vigilantes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26371741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellomailbox/pseuds/Mellomailbox
Summary: Everything is great with Zuko.Sokka's not sure why Zuko keeps trying to complicate that.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Real Housewives of Republic City [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811134
Comments: 12
Kudos: 214





	Can't Sleep Love

“Ah,” Sokka says, and it’s not the ‘ah’ of _yes, more,_ so much as the ‘ah’ of _ouch, no._ Zuko stills beneath him, fingers fluttering along his sides nervously. His breath is hot against Sokka’s neck. 

“Your back,” Zuko says, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. 

“It’s fine,” Sokka says, eyes widened convincingly. 

“It’s not,” Zuko argues, shifting like he’s going to move away. Their cocks bump and they both shudder, Sokka tightening his hold on Zuko’s hip. Zuko shudders even harder, lashes fluttering. “Stop that, I’m trying to be— responsible—” 

“Coddling,” Sokka argues, because it’d taken an hour of flirting to convince Zuko to fuck around at all. It’s not _his_ fault that he got a pipe in his back from a pair of thugs looking for trouble the day before. The injury isn’t even on the side of the body that they’re using, anyways. 

He huffs and rolls his eyes at Zuko, dipping to kiss him into passivity. 

It’s the wrong move.

“Agni forbid I try and _care about you,”_ Zuko hisses. He shifts up the bed again, more determined. The wincing cry is only half put on— the bed shakes, and Sokka’s muscles spasm as he tries to steady himself. Zuko stills immediately, frozen, face afraid. Like Sokka is made of glass and he’s just watched him shatter. “Sokka?”

“Hng,” Sokka says, face screwed up. Incredibly, the pain doesn’t affect his boner at all. “Hold on. Maybe we should-- you wanna top?” 

“Wouldn’t that hurt your back?” Zuko asks, eyebrow arched. “I mean, me on top of you, pressing you into the mattress— wait. You mean.” 

His face flushes the deepest red that Sokka’s ever seen.

“Uhhhhh,” he says. 

“Ass up,” Sokka clarifies, a little breathlessly. Zuko saying those things wasn’t meant to be dirty talk. Sokka knows that. But-- it was _dirty._

“Uhhkay,” Zuko says, nodding repeatedly. “That’s— you like that?— that’s a stupid question, nevermind.”

Does he like it? “Yeah,” Sokka nods, absently grinding their hips together. “I do. When you-- talk like that, too. That’s really. _Good_.” 

“I don’t—” Zuko squeezes his eyes shut, pushes Sokka’s hips up gently, so they’re no longer touching. “Quit it. I uh. I don’t do that a lot. So if I do something wrong—”

Sokka kisses Zuko’s neck, distracted by the line of it, dotted with nicks and freckles. He takes the skin between his teeth gently enough that he can feel Zuko’s chest still in anticipation, presses the flat of his tongue against his pulse. 

“Sokka,” he chokes out. “I can’t— focus.”

He knows it’s going to drive Zuko into a fit before he does it, but he can’t _help_ himself. He draws away without following through, instead kissing him chastly on the chin. “If you don’t want to fuck me,” he starts, and bats his eyelashes at Zuko instead of finishing. 

“I— you— _shut up,”_ Zuko says, and pushes at him. “Are you going to get off me so I can get you off, or what?”

“Good choice!” Sokka grins. “Good choices all around. I’m gonna just,” he huffs, shifting to the side on his knees in an awkward shuffle, reaching for a pillow. He tucks it under his hips and humps it a little in desperation, careful not to stretch and arch the way that he wants to. 

Honestly, Sokka doesn’t bottom very often, either. He and Zuko are pretty sexually compatible for the most part in that respect. But the idea of Zuko curved over him, sweating and blushing and pushing in hesitant and slow; that’s something that _definitely_ interests Sokka. 

“You okay back there, sweetheart? Not getting cold feet are we?” Sokka waggles his toes playfully. “Or do you need a soundtrack? Want me to talk you through it?” 

“No,” Zuko says, tightly. There’s something off about his tone, but then there’s a slick finger at Sokka’s entrance and the anticipation eclipses any higher emotional functions. 

“Nnnnn,” Sokka praises, pressing his face into his forearms. The pain in his back is a dull throb, but he’s able to ignore it as he focuses on the pleasure sparking where Zuko’s working him open. 

“Yeah?” Zuko asks, caressing the curve of an asscheek awkwardly.

“Yeah,” Sokka agrees enthusiastically. He tries a shift of his hips, but it pulls badly in the low of his back, and he sucks in a breath. Okay. Pillow princess for him it is.

“Kay,” Zuko says. 

Sokka wants to talk to Zuko. They usually chatter and snipe and tease each other, Sokka trying to get a rise out of Zuko and Zuko trying to hide how shy and overwhelmed he is. 

But Zuko had been weird when Sokka offered to talk, so he presses his lips shut and focuses on breathing calmly, pleasure building in his gut. 

Zuko is making breathing harder than it should be. Sokka’s always been aware of his fingers, long and thin, but he’s never been— _this_ aware of them, as Zuko presses around, searching.

“Fuck,” Sokka says, breathily, “--Me. Fuck me. _Zuko._ ” 

“Shit,” Zuko gasps, and the hand petting Sokka’s ass clenches down, fingers inside curling up _hard._ There’s a pause, maybe three seconds, and then Zuko’s fingering him sharp and fast. “Uh, no, can’t, sorry,” Zuko says.

“What?” Sokka tries to say, but the breath is knocked out of him by the force of his hand. Sokka bites down on his forearm and moans, but it’s not enough, teasing a string that he can’t quite pluck. 

“I can do three fingers,” Zuko says, voice increasingly frantic, and does. He reaches around Sokka, careful not to lean on his back as he wraps his hand around his cock.

“AH,” Sokka shouts, eyes squeezed shut. There’s a wetness on the back of his thighs, and his eyes snap open as he looks to Zuko, lips parted. “You!” 

“Want me to stop?” Zuko asks. 

Zuko totally came already. The _cheater._

“HA,” Sokka says, and then more laughter bubbles up, and he’s cracking up against his shoulder, toes curling in the sheets. He’s so close to an orgasm he’s been chasing for over an hour, but Zuko’s _face._ “Ha ha ha! You fucking-- I can’t believe you!” 

“Okay, you know what, fuck you,” Zuko snaps. He doesn’t stop touching Sokka though, even as angry as he sounds, he just moves faster. So it probably isn’t that serious.

“You can’t!” Sokka laughs, and then he moans, coming apart in Zuko’s hand in soft whines and a ringing in his ears. 

When his vision clears a little, he realizes that Zuko’s not touching him. Or in the bed, even. 

He turns his head, muscles like soup under his skin, absolutely useless. Zuko’s back is to him, and he’s already got his pants on. He’s pulling his undershirt on.

“Hey,” Sokka says, affronted, and slaps a hand out to catch his arm. It hits a little harder than he intended, still woozy in the aftershocks of an excellent orgasm. 

Zuko _flinches._

“What?” he asks. He doesn’t turn around, but Sokka can hear the clink of his belt. The atmosphere shifts. Or, maybe it’s been this way, thick and sour, and Sokka’s just now noticing. 

His stomach turns and he moves to sit up, biting his lip against the pain. “Hey,” Sokka says again, worried, “where are you going?” 

Zuko twists, frowning. “I— lay _down,_ you’re injured. I’m— I’m just going to go. Get you some food. Or something.”

“No,” Sokka says, shaking his head. “Want you to stay. You’re warm.” Sokka pats the bed next to him, trying to parse the pain between Zuko’s eyes, the pinch of skin where eyebrows would normally meet. 

“I—” Zuko says, shoulders stiff. He’s not making eye contact, which isn’t unusual, but this feels purposeful. Avoidant. “I just want to get you something you want.”

Zuko’s shoulders are to his ears. Instead of saying, ‘I want you,’ Sokka reaches for him again. 

He expects the flinch this time, and Zuko doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. Sokka closes his hand into a frustrated fist and drops it on the bedding. 

“Just— let me make it up to you,” Zuko says. He leans forward, viper quick, presses a kiss to Sokka’s forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”

“No?” Sokka tries, swallowing down irritation. “Why are you-- it was _good._ Obviously,” he gestures to the mess Zuko left on him accusingly. “Why are you being weird?” 

“I’m _not_ being weird,” Zuko snaps, crossing his arms. He takes a step back, so there’s no chance of Sokka being able to touch him. “You don’t have to lie to me. Just let me go, and I’ll be back, and it’ll be fine.”

“You’re the one who’s lying,” Sokka says, fully sitting up. It feels better this way, less like Sokka’s defending himself and more like they’re on equal ground. “I don’t, if you didn’t want to fuck--” 

“I wanted to,” Zuko says, that deep red again. He gestures at Sokka’s thighs, voice a bad mimicry of Sokka’s. _“Obviously.”_

“Then why are you acting like this?” 

“Like _what?_ ” Zuko demands. 

Sokka reaches for him again, wanting to brush his hair back where it’s hiding the half of his face that Sokka can actually read. 

Zuko flinches back. 

“Why do you keep doing that?!” Sokka demands, angry. 

Zuko, predictably.

Flinches.

“Doing what?” he asks, leaning back like he wants to take another step but not quite doing it. 

“Doing-- you know what? Forget it,” Sokka says, choking on emotions that he’s unwilling to really digest right now. He throws himself onto his side, back to Zuko, and bites back the hiss of pain at the dramatics. 

“Yeah, we’ll just— forget it,” Zuko says. His voice sounds oddly hollow. Nothing is making _sense._ “Hey, it’s— it’s not— I’m just being weird. I need a walk. I’ll be back soon.”

Sokka can’t bring himself to answer. He presses the heel of his palm against his sternum, pain spiking. Probably from his back. 

“Right,” Zuko says, quietly. There’s a rustle as he pulls on his shirt, buttons it. He walks past the foot of the bed, stands there for a moment. There’s the near silent sound of him opening and closing his mouth, a soft breath. 

Then he just presses his fingertips to Sokka’s ankle, fluttering them out. “Mwah,” he whispers, and walks out the door.

Why the _fuck_ is he acting like this? With the, the, the heartbreaking and cute kiss with his fingers? The flinching? 

Sokka seethes for a while, until the ache from how tense he’s laying forces him to move. And then he feels the sex on him, and disgust washes through him, painted like shame. 

By the time he’s showered, awkwardly re-dressed his wound, and is sitting at the table facing the door, Zuko’s still not back. The sun sets late in the summer months, orange dancing along the unadorned back wall to his apartment, curtains still open from where Zuko had pinned them that morning. 

Sokka’s relented enough in the face of his own boredom to read a book. It’s not a very good book, but it’s absorbing enough that when the door latch clicks, he almost doesn’t hear it.

“I got food,” Zuko says. When Sokka looks up, he’s toeing his shoes off, loose braid hanging over one shoulder as he stares down at his feet. He’d forgotten his hair tie then, too busy trying to get away from Sokka. 

Sokka blinks and looks to the food that’s still sitting on the kitchen counter, illuminated by a lamp. It’s long cold. Sokka, stubbornly, had waited for Zuko. 

“You like food,” Zuko says, nervously. He keeps his face tipped down, even as he sits on the couch next to Sokka.

“I already ate,” Sokka finds himself lying, making no move to shift closer to Zuko the way that he normally would have. Zuko’s sporting a shiny new bruise on his jaw, and it must have hurt like a motherfucker, because his eyes are lined with red, nose puffy.

“...ah,” Zuko says. 

“You get caught up doing Blue Spirit stuff?” Sokka asks, lifting his hand towards Zuko’s face. He doesn’t touch him, instead letting his hand drop lamely into his lap. 

“What?” Zuko asks, distant, distracted. He reaches up to touch his own jaw, prodding at the bruise. “Oh. Uh. Sort of.”

Sure. No answers for Sokka. He rubs his fingers against the hem of his tunic, toes twitching against the worn rug in agitation. Zuko notices his fidgeting. 

“I’m sorry I—” Zuko starts, just as Sokka says, “I think we need to—”

Zuko stops. Sokka also stops. Sokka makes an accommodating little wave with his hand. _Sorry you…_

“I’m sorry for earlier,” Zuko says. “I’ll do better next time. If you— if that’s a thing you want. I wasn’t prepared, which isn’t an excuse, but—”

Sokka thinks he’s talking about their argument, but something about the way he’s speaking is bothering him. Zuko’s eyes keep flitting to his face and away, nervous, and he’s working a napkin from the take-out into ribbons on his lap. 

“--I’m a quick learner. And I’m sorry I overreacted, you were right to laugh, I just—”

 _Oh._ Not the argument, then. 

“What the fuck,” Sokka breathes, blown over by anger and incredulity. “Are you talking about?” 

Zuko curls in on himself, lips thinning. He’s not flinching so much as bracing himself. It’s not better.

“The,” he waves a hand. “You know, the--”

Sokka interrupts him, hands gripping his knees tightly. “You think I’m-- you think I’m upset about the sex? You think I’m angry?” 

“Aren’t you?” Zuko asks, eyeing his obvious posture. 

Sokka gets to flinch this time. It doesn’t feel victorious. 

“Yeah, _now._ Because of the insane shit that you’re saying! How could you think so lowly of me, spirits!” Sokka has to stand, rushing to his feet to expel some of the energy that’s building in his wrists, his thighs. 

“I— what do you mean _lowly?_ ” Zuko asks. He’s horribly still on the couch. “I don’t, I didn’t do what you wanted. You don’t ask for a lot, and I— _fucked it up—”_ he laughs at his own pun there, thought the laughter dies quickly.

“I don’t want you to do what I want!” Sokka shouts, hands in the air. “Holy hell, Zuko! What? Have you only been doing what you think I want this whole time?” 

Zuko stares up at him, jaw set firmly. “Would that… be a bad thing?”

Sokka blinks at him. His anger doesn’t go away so much as it’s overshadowed by a deep, painful regret. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, it really fucking is. I’m not that kinda guy, Zuko.” 

“I don’t,” Zuko scrubs at his face with his hands. “I don’t understand. Everyone wants to get what they _want._ I just want you to be happy, I don’t— what’s the problem?”

“What about you? That’s the problem that I’m starting to see,” Sokka says, maybe not the best configuration of words, but he’s working through a lot in his head right now. “Do you even want what I’m asking you for? Earlier, you kept saying you didn’t want me to hurt my back, but was that just-- did I-- oh, gods.” He leans against the wall, eyes closed. 

“Did you _what?”_ Zuko snaps, standing. “I’m not a child, I said yes, you’re acting like— I just misunderstood you, I misunderstand you all the time.”

That makes even less sense. If Zuko wants to have sex with him, why is he acting like Sokka’s some big mean asshole who’s gonna be _mad_ at him for enjoying it? 

“Though in my defense, it’s pretty fucking _easy_ to misunderstand someone _laughing at you_ when you come too early!” Zuko yells.

Oh. 

“You’re an idiot,” Sokka says, angry. He rubs at his jaw, looking anywhere but at Zuko. 

“Well? Wanna explain it to me then, genius?” Zuko asks. 

His stupid face heats up without his consent. “It’s cute, you asshole. I was laughing ‘cause it’s _cute_ and you make me _happy_ and I laugh when I’m happy.” Sokka looks at him then, stubborn. Zuko looks away, but Sokka keeps staring. “I liked it!” 

“What’s cute about me failing to do the— simple thing you—” Zuko bites his lip. 

“I liked that you came early! It meant that you-- you liked it, and that’s, I like that you liked it!” Sokka continues, humiliated. 

“Well then this is a really stupid fight!” Zuko says, matching his volume, face just as flushed.

“It is! Why are we fighting over stupid stuff!” Sokka yells back. 

“Cuz I’m stupid! You said so like twenty seconds ago!” Zuko turns to face him, corners of his lips twitching up, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“So am I!” Sokka says, and scrubs his face. He steps towards Zuko, not hesitating when he reaches for him this time. “Come here. Maybe if we combine our stupid we’ll have one smart.” 

“That’s how math works,” Zuko agrees, stepping into Sokka’s arms. “One plus one equals one. It’s science.”

Zuko hunches over, and over, and when that doesn’t get him low enough, he spreads his legs out. Finally, he faceplants against Sokka’s collarbone.

“I wouldn’t know,” Sokka says, standing on his tiptoes to give Zuko the little spoon experience he always craves. “We don’t have schools where I’m from.” 

“I think Katara just got angry and doesn’t know why,” Zuko mutters. 

“I’m stupid,” Sokka says again, holding Zuko tightly. Together like this, warmth and pressure, it’s hard to imagine the justification he’d felt at their fight. 

“I’m sorry I assumed things,” Zuko says. “I haven’t— the people I’ve been with weren’t you. It doesn’t always translate well.”

“Their loss,” Sokka mutters, and kisses Zuko’s cheek. He leans back, cupping his bruised jaw gently with one hand. 

Zuko looks away. Sokka keeps staring into his eyes anyways. “I never mean to make you feel bad. I laugh because I love,” he stumbles, eyes darting away, “the things you do. Uh. And I’m a stupid meathead with a terrible sense of humor.” 

Zuko’s eyes are glued to his face the second he says love. It’s— uncomfortable. 

“I uh,” Zuko says. Doubt crosses his face, so quick Sokka— ha— doubts he saw it. “Yeah. You are. It’s okay. I l-like that. About you.” 

Contentment fills Sokka’s chest, climbing up his neck to his cheeks. He smiles shyly and steals a brief kiss. “Yeah? You’re not just sayin’ that?” 

“No, I am,” Zuko says, deadpan. “Your sense of humor is your worst quality.”

“AGH!” Sokka laughs, blowing a raspberry against Zuko’s neck and holding his arms so that he can’t escape. “No jokes for you!” 

“Who said I was— joking— you just have a _terrible_ sense of hu— _aha ha ha!”_

*** 

That night, arm curled over Zuko’s waist, staring at the blankets and waiting to fall asleep, Sokka can’t stop thinking about it.

Not the fight, the fight was stupid. But there were parts of it that— weren’t. They felt serious while they were happening, serious enough that Sokka had felt...utterly lost. 

_The guys I dated before weren’t you._

Sokka’s known Zuko for years. They used to argue just for the outlet, used to physically spar and swat at each other. 

He’s never _flinched_ before. Not like that.

Sokka’s never met any of Zuko’s boyfriends, of course, but the only thing that Sokka can definitely say has changed between him and Zuko is their relationship. So what about them being romantically involved makes Zuko so anxious around him? 

Feelings are scary stuff.

But Sokka doesn’t think it’s that kind of scary.

***

Zuko doesn’t stay with his uncle much anymore. Sokka doesn’t mind, because it’s nice having someone on the furs with him at night, and they like being around each other enough that it’s not stifling the way living with Katara had been. 

“You think we should paint?” Zuko asks, feet kicked up on the coffee table, tapping the pages of his book but not reading it. “Not that I don’t love cigarette-yellow.”

Sokka’s struggling to tie his hair, the poof too long for just one knot anymore. He gets it right as Zuko’s looking like he’s going to offer to help, and he raises his eyebrows triumphantly at him. 

Zuko does a polite little golf clap.

“What, at the shop? The smoke from the fryers is just gonna make the walls greasy again.” He shoves his boots on his feet and bends to tie them. 

“Nah, here,” Zuko says, and gestures at the stains near the ceiling. “I try and open a window when I smoke, I’ll just do it every time.”

Sokka looks up, frowning. “No? I don’t care, man, smoke away. You’re the only guy I’ve ever met who actually smells good all coated in cigarette ash.” Something about the comment bothers him, though, and he glances at Zuko. 

Zuko laughs. “Yeah, it’s the firebender secret. We smell like smoke, but in a _hot_ way.” He closes his book, stands.

The irritation fades and he grins toothily. The ease in Zuko’s movements, the casual laugh-- Sokka’s addicted to seeing him this way. “Oh, no. I’ve gotta _go,”_ he says, backing away with his palms up as Zuko blinks at him, pretty and innocent. 

Zuko loops his arms around Sokka’s neck, swaying gently as he kisses him goodbye on the cheek. “Think about it. I’d do all the work. I just want our home to be nice.”

Sokka stills. Zuko feels it, and pulls back, all easiness gone from his expression. 

“Your home,” he corrects, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You uh— deserve nice things. That’s all I’m—”

“Uh, I mean,” Sokka stammers, stepping out of Zuko’s arms and looking for his keys. “It’s technically not even mine, I rent it.” 

“Yeah, course,” Zuko says. “I’m— I should go see Uncle. I probably won’t be—”

“--Yeah, I’m supposed to see Katara and the kids today, I didn’t-- I would have invited you, but it’s Bumi’s tenth and that’s a family thing--” 

“Right,” Zuko says. He sounds like he’s choking on something as he fumbles the door open. “See you.”

“Yeah,” Sokka says again, dumbly. He feels like he just fucked something up, but can’t quite place what it could be. 

Zuko doesn’t stay with his Uncle much anymore. It’s fine. They get along, and Sokka’s barely noticed the way he keeps filling his cupboards despite Sokka telling him that he prefers to eat at the shop, or the way he’s brought in two extra chairs for the kitchen table, or the way he’s started building a bedframe in Sokka’s room. 

Spirits. It’s not a hobby. Zuko was building a bedframe for _them._ Because he wants a _bed._ He’s always complaining about how uncomfortable Sokka’s furs are. 

Sokka sucks in a deep breath and locks the door as he leaves. Zuko’s key is still on the counter, but that’s okay. It’s just for emergencies anyways. 

Sokka doesn’t want a bed. 

***

“So he— he turned you down?” Mai says, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“Yeah,” Zuko says, nose clogged, eyes still streaming. “I mean— it wasn’t a proper proposal or anything, but I’ve been…”

“I helped you pick out the chairs,” Mai reminds him. “Zuko… I don’t know, I don’t know him. But that _can’t_ be right. He wouldn’t lead you on this long, if he didn’t mean it.” 

“Wouldn’t he?” Zuko asks, feeling petty and mean. “You’ve said it before, I only love guys who don’t love me.”

“He’s Water Tribe, hothead,” Mai says, and flicks him. “You need to have a real conversation before you can assume he doesn’t want to be your consort—”

“I don’t want him to tell me that!” Zuko bursts out. “I— I’d rather not know. I’d rather look stupid than hear him say it to me.”

“Then you deserve this,” Mai says, severely, and leaves the room.

Zuko, choking back another wave of tears unsuccessfully, can’t help but agree.

***

“I dunno,” Katara says, heaving Kya into Sokka’s arms, “I was kinda expecting to see Zuko. Bumi’s gonna be disappointed at the lack of presents.” 

“Presents aren’t even a Water Tribe thing,” Sokka argues as Kya pulls at his beard. 

“They’re a _fun_ thing,” Aang says as he moves past, tickling Kya’s stomach as he goes. She screeches in laughter, and pulls even harder.

“That’s right, rip that nasty chinstrap off little fishie,” Katara praises. “And that doesn’t matter, you dope. As you so often like to say, we’re a _blended_ family.” She makes a little wave with her hand, meant to illustrate something insulting about Sokka, probably. 

Kya tries to put her mouth over Sokka’s chin. That’s his line for cute baby vs gross baby, and he holds her away, bouncing her to distract her from her hairy prize. 

“So— but _why_ were you expecting to see Zuko?” Sokka asks. “We’ve only been dating for 8 months.”

Katara raises her eyebrow. He likes to think that she looks like mom when she does that, but Sokka doesn’t remember what mom looks like, so she just looks like Katara. _A_ mom. “Yeah. That’s a long time for the Fire Nation, you dope.” 

“You don’t know that,” he argues, frowning. 

“I do!” Aang interrupts, trying to help Bumi maintain an air scooter. “My cousin went to a Fire Nation school. Eight months? That’s serious stuff, especially with dating. If you were just— having _fun_ occasionally, that’s one thing. But that? That’s court—”

Despite Aang’s attempt to keep the air scooter afloat, Bumi panics and drops off of it, falling onto his back. Aang laughs, Kya shrieks, and Bumi huffs and storms away in dramatic embarrassment. 

“And Zuko’s that weird fake royalty,” Katara says. 

“Bumi!” Aang yells, jogging after him. “Aw, I was just laughing!” 

“Have you not...talked to him about this?” Katara asks, glancing at Sokka out the side of her eye.

“Aang’s cousin sounds fake,” Sokka mutters, playing with Kya’s hair loopies as she yells and tries to catch his hands. 

“You know,” Katara says, keeping an eye on the Bumi situation. “The most important part of a relationship is communication. If you can’t talk to each other, you’re not going to last. Especially in a _blended_ relationship.”

“You know,” Sokka says, mimicking her tone as he wrinkles his nose, “you’re really obnoxious and annoying.” Kya yanks on one of his beads and Sokka howls, frantically trying to untangle sticky baby fingers from the thing attached to his head. 

“Who’s mama’s favorite lil fishie?” Katara coos supportively. 

“Ee-ya!” she yells, slapping both of Sokka’s cheeks. 

“She takes after you,” Sokka says, viciously. 

“Talk to your rich boyfriend,” Katara returns savagely. 

“MOOOOOM,” Bumi wails from inside the temple. Sokka and Katara share a look, sigh, and head towards the commotion. 

***

Zuko doesn’t come around that night. Which is fine. He’d said he wasn’t going to. 

He doesn’t come around the next night, either.

Or the following night. Sokka stops by the ring on the fourth night, but Zuko’d traded with the Boulder and didn’t sign on for the following week. 

Sokka doesn’t let himself worry. Zuko’s an adult. He’s dramatic, but an adult. 

Iroh’s tea is incredibly popular. Sokka runs out of it around a week without seeing Zuko, and he takes the metal container and treks down to the swamp benders territory, feet heavy and a tin of Fire Flower in his bag. 

Zuko’s probably out of it, unless he’s been taking too little. 

The front door sings as he opens it, a cute little tune that he identifies as a series of metal pins and strings that are brushed together as the door opens and closes. It’s fascinating, and Sokka would normally spend a few minutes inspecting something like that, except that he sees Zuko sitting at a table by the back close to the curtain that leads to the kitchen. 

He looks like shit. 

His eyes have dark circles around them, and he’s listing over to the side like he’s barely conscious. 

Yeah, he ran out. 

Sokka doesn’t bother approaching him, instead slipping past the green and yellow silk and into the kitchen. Iroh spots him and purses his lips in clear judgement, but when Sokka takes a pot of steaming water and opens it, Iroh lets him drop a bundle of Fire Flower into it without comment. 

They don’t say anything to each other as Sokka loads up the pot and a single cup onto the tray, carrying it out to Zuko and setting it down in front of him. 

“I’m good, Jin,” Zuko says as Sokka sets the tray down. His eyes are looking in two different directions. Neither of them are focused on Sokka. “I’ll go upstairs if I’m bo-bothering someone again, just give me a minute.”

Sokka pours Zuko a cup, adding some sugar from the little bowl at the table and placing it in front of him with a loud clack. 

“Jin—” Zuko sighs, and makes the clearly monumental effort to turn his face and focus on Sokka. Sokka raises his eyebrows, visibly unimpressed. “...not Jin.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Sokka says, pointing to the tea. “Because you’re the most dramatic man I’ve ever met. Drink your tea, Zuko.” 

“I—” Zuko presses his lips thin, holding the words in. But he picks up the tea, sips it. He doesn’t bother to blow on it to cool it. Why would he? 

Except he normally does. Because he’s _dramatic._

Sokka sighs and sits down, face in his hands. He has a lot that he wants to say, but no idea what the words actually are. Instead he waits for Zuko to finish his first cup. Then, worried that he’s still too out of it to have a conversation, he pours him another cup. 

“How was Bumi’s birthday?” Zuko asks. He still looks exhausted, but some of the trembling has stopped.

“Everyone expected you to come,” Sokka admits. “Bumi was mad at me.” 

“...I’m sorry,” Zuko says. “That must have been really awkward for you.”

Sokka shakes his head. “It’s my fault. I wasn’t thinking when I didn’t bring you with me. It’s-- if we were still just friends, I wouldn’t have even thought about it. I’m making this weird.” He gestures between them, as if it’s not already clear what he’s talking about it. 

Zuko shrugs. “It’s fine. You need space. I get it.”

“I don’t--” Sokka shuts his mouth and thinks about it. Does he need space? He’s lived on top of people his whole life. At home, he and Katara and dad and Bato and at the beginning, mom, all shared a one-room igloo together. When Gramp Gramp died and dad became chief, it was still him and Katara, and then Gran Gran too after she stopped being stubborn. 

When he moved to Republic City it was him, Katara, Aang and Toph all crammed into a two-bedroom apartment. Those were some of his best years, Toph’s rank feet and Aang’s airbending snoring aside. 

It’s not about space. It’s about what Zuko means to him _inside_ of that space. He hadn’t thought anything of it, the casual intrusions, until Zuko… made something of it. Said _our home,_ soft and happy and holding him. 

And now he still doesn’t know what to think. 

“...Maybe you’re right,” Sokka admits. He sees the way it hurts Zuko, before he blinks it away, staring at the steam as it curls from his cup. 

“Right,” Zuko says, slouching. 

“Um, not from you,” Sokka tries, reaching for Zuko’s hand where it’s pale and trembling on the table. “From the-- whatever this is? The next bit?”

“The…” Zuko’s face is hurt, again, and this time he can’t seem to push it away. He lets Sokka take his hand, fingers limp in his grasp. 

Sokka’s dreading the answer before he even asks. “What’s it that you’re wanting here, Zuko?” 

Zuko snorts, and then reaches up to wipe at his eyes. He pulls his hand out of Sokka’s grip to do it. “I— what do _you_ want? I think it’s pretty, pretty clear what I want.”

Sokka shrugs, heart pounding. It’s not clear, actually, but he’ll give Zuko an out. He hates himself for putting the dejected pain on Zuko’s face, for filling his eyes with tears. Zuko’d told him once, before they were dating, that crying is excruciating because of the way that it irritates the nerves in his scar and the remains of his left eye. 

“I want this? Well, not this,” he reaches up to wipe at Zuko’s good cheek, carefully staying away from the sensitive areas, “but what we’ve got going on. The way things are.” 

Zuko swallows, repeatedly, breathing through his nose to force the tears back. It’s loud, and wet, but it works. 

“Right,” he says. “The way things are. And— how are they? What— what am I? What are _we?_ ” 

“Ah,” Sokka says, rubbing at his face. His ears are burning, and he swears that everyone has stopped talking so that they can listen in. At the very least, he knows that Iroh is lurking just behind the curtain. He can see his _feet._

“Um. I’m Sokka, of the Southern Water Tribe? And you’re… Zuko? Who’s name and title I’m realizing I still don’t know…” he trails off, his lighthearted joke falling flat and wet. Like a dead fish. 

“Crown Prince Zuko, son of Rightful Fire Lord Ozai and Fire Lady Ursa,” Zuko rattles off. 

“Oh,” Sokka says dumbly. Zuko’s looking at him tiredly. “That’s. Wow.” 

“You’ve come to my fights,” Zuko points out. “It’s not a secret.”

“I’m sorry, you wear _that outfit_ at home?” Sokka asks, eyes wide and earnest. 

Zuko starts laughing at him, which was the goal. “Yeah, why do you think I never go there?”

Sokka actually never noticed that Zuko never goes to Fire Lily Plaza. But now that he mentions it, Zuko spends any time not with Sokka fighting as the Blue Spirit, fighting in the ring, or with Iroh. 

“I… well,” Zuko says, looking at the table. “I’m— I can be fine with that.”

“Wait,” Sokka says suddenly, voice low. He ducks his head in close, and Zuko turns hopeful eyes on him. “Ozai? Like-- _that_ Ozai?” 

“...how many super rich Ozai’s did you think there _were?”_ Zuko asks, incredulously. “What do you think Jet’s going on about whenever he sees me?”

“And you’re the,” he lowers his voice even more, this time to a whisper, hand shielding his face from the other patrons, “Blue Spirit? What?!” 

Zuko throws his tea in Sokka’s face. 

“How could you say that to me?!” he demands, rocketing to his feet. He stomps up the stairs.

Sokka’s knocked so far off his center of gravity with that tonal shift that he just sits there dumbly, blinking away lukewarm tea that sticks to his eyelashes and drips from his beads. 

“Well, aren’t you going to follow him and apologize?” Iroh asks, from behind the silk. He pitches his voice high, as if to pretend it’s coming from someone else.

“Spirits, save me,” Sokka moans, and obliges. 

As soon as he reaches the door, it slams open, and Zuko pulls him inside by his collar.

“What were you _thinking?_ ” he demands, slamming the door shut. “You can’t say that in public. You can’t _ever_ say that!”

Sokka’s very distracted by Zuko’s hands on his collar. His knuckles are warm against the side of Sokka’s neck, bumping against his sealbone necklace. Unconsciously, his hands settle on Zuko’s hips. 

“Um, I didn’t?” Sokka says numbly. “I whispered it.” 

“Toph’s not the only person in all of Republic City with good hearing,” Zuko says, exasperated. He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut as his head drops forward to rest on the wood of the door behind Sokka’s head. His hair tickles Sokka’s cheek. “Fuck. You scared me.”

Sokka squeezes Zuko’s hips, testing his luck by sliding his palms along his back and between his shoulder blades, turning their angry hold into an actual embrace. “There there? Sorry to scare you with my talking, oh mighty ass-kicking vigilante and master firebender and, oh, wait, prince?!” 

“You have _no_ idea,” Zuko says, and knocks his forehead against the wood again instead of finishing his thought. He steps back, scowl fading. “... Sokka. I need to— I need to just. Clear something up. Because I haven’t— before, I’ve assumed when I shouldn’t have.”

Sokka thought that they’d moved past this landmine. He stiffens, but doesn’t move away. “Mhhm?” 

“Is… Are you…” Zuko seems to be fighting the words, half mouthing more than he says. Finally, he sighs deeply. “Wanna fuck?”

“If I haven’t been entirely open and honest about my near constant desire to fuck you, then I am truly, deeply sorry,” Sokka says seriously, relief rushing through him like adrenaline. 

“Yeah,” Zuko says, smiling tightly, slipping his hands under Sokka’s shirt even as he slides to his knees. “It was a stupid question.”

“Fuck,” Sokka says, and sinks down with him, blocking Zuko’s hands when they go for his belt. “No, stop, I know that face by now.” Zuko’s expression is unreadable, which is exactly why Sokka’s concerned. 

Zuko drops his hands, twists them in the hem of his own shirt. “What do you _want_ from me?”

It’s bitter. Sokka feels a similar sentiment in his own mouth, sour and harsh. He takes Zuko’s nervous hands and uses them to pull him closer, till their legs are tangled and they’re chest to chest.

“I dunno. To be happy? But I’m obviously fucking that up,” he admits. “Why’s this so hard all of a sudden?” 

Zuko shrugs, settling his face in the crook of Sokka’s neck. “Was easier when I thought I knew what you thought.”

“You don’t know,” Sokka says. “And I don’t know. So we’re both idiots who don’t know anything. Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I— I mean,” Zuko says, and he takes an extremely shaky breath. “I know what I want. I’m just scared to hear you say it’s not what you want. I don’t think, I don’t think I would take it. Well.”

Zuko has to be thinking of marriage. It’s incredibly rushed, and presumptuous, against all of Sokka’s traditions.

But Zuko doesn’t know about Sokka’s traditions. And Sokka doesn’t know about Zuko’s. Still, he licks his lips, unable to get any sound to form words. 

“I don’t mean _now,”_ Zuko clarifies, as Sokka tenses. “I don’t know what to expect from you. I _never_ know what to expect from you.”

“That’s not true,” Sokka argues, taking the change of direction like a lifeline. “I don’t think it’s fair, either. I’ve never treated you badly or been disloyal or anything. I wanted to date you, and then we started dating. I want to kiss you and I do that, I want to spend time with you and we do _that_.” 

“I started moving into your apartment, and you didn’t notice,” Zuko says. He pulls back, pulling them apart. “I— you don’t have to say anything _now._ I just want to know if you… if someday…”

Sokka’s not sure what Zuko’s afraid of him saying. He’s having trouble following the conversation at all, baffled by what moving in has to do with any of their current drama. 

“You’ll love me,” Zuko finishes, staring at the door fixedly. “If you just want to date, that’s— fine, I like dating you.”

“Um,” Sokka says eloquently. There’s the marriage allusion again. He reaches between the empty space Zuko’s created, curling his fingers behind his hearing ear and stroking the skin there gently. “I do love you, actually. And I also want to date you. Is that-- not how you do things?” 

“I—” Zuko’s face crumples up, and he hides it in his hands. “What? You _what?_ ” 

“I want to keep dating you?” Sokka says, unaware that this might be a breakup until this exact moment. 

“No, the— the other—” Zuko says, breathing rapidly. 

Sokka is also breathing rapidly. “Were you trying to break up with me?” 

“I wanted to know if we were courting, or if we were _fucking,_ ” Zuko says, voice cracking. “I wasn’t going to stop, you think I can stop?”

Sokka’s so fucking confused. “What? We’re dating and fucking, you absolute, adorable moron? What?” Sokka cups Zuko’s face in both of his hands, searching his expression for answers. 

“Stop saying dating,” Zuko snarls, ripping his face out of Sokka’s hands. He bounces to his feet, takes a few steps away so he can pace. 

Sokka feels the emptiness like the harshest of polar winters, hands hanging dumbly in the air for a moment. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called you stupid. It’s-- I don’t mean it. It’s an endearment, I don’t mean it.” 

“I don’t care,” Zuko says, harshly. “I don’t care about that. What— do you not know what courting is?”

“My head hurts,” Sokka moans, rubbing at his temples. “What, isn’t it just a fancy word for dating? I bet not, by the way you’re being all sparky and mad at me.” 

“It’s— it’s—” Zuko throws his hands up. They are, indeed, sparky. “It’s preparing to make someone your _heart._ It’s not dating. It’s not— searching for compatibility, or just having fun, it’s _serious._ Or the— intent of being serious, someday.”

“I’m not ready for marriage,” Sokka blurts, startled into honesty. His back is pressed against the door, firm against his spine and the faint pulse of his back injury. 

“Okay?” Zuko says, staring at him quizzically. “Me neither. Is that… relevant?”

There’s a familiar twitching in his spine, his hips, and Sokka moans. “Nooo,” he groans, and feels his neck start to go. He wants to say more, wants to swear, but his teeth have started chattering.

He resigns himself to riding it out, trying to relax into it. His back hurts like a bitch though, and he gives up on not swearing. They come out bitten off and stuttered, wrong, eyes squeezing shut uncontrollably and then snapping open. Zuko gets closer to him, pressing a palm to the wood behind his head when it slams backwards. 

“OW!” Zuko says, and Sokka tries to apologize for kneeing him, but he can’t get the words out between his clenched teeth. “Ow! Okay, I know we were fighting, but that’s a _really low blow—”_

Sokka laughs, and the spasms start to ease off a little. 

“Pocket,” he manages after a while, jaw still tight and jumping. Zuko blinks at him a couple of times before registering what he’s said, and he keeps one hand cautiously behind Sokka’s head as he starts digging around in Sokka’s pockets with the other. 

He pulls back the rest of the Fire Flower, wrapped in wax, the tin opened during their altercation. After setting it aside he pulls out another wax packet, this one small. Unfolding it twice reveals a small sachet of herbs, pressed into a rough square. Sokka opens his mouth with incredible effort. 

Carefully, so as not to lose a finger, Zuko tosses the medicine in. 

They sit there in relative silence for a few minutes, Zuko scrutinizing his every breath and twitch.

“Katara t-t-told you to maaake me laugh, huh?” Sokka asks. His voice is still funky. He stretches his jaw out, rubbing at the tension with his fingers.

“Yeah,” Zuko says, quietly, settling beside him. Their shoulders touch, and this way neither of them have to look at each other. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been standing over you like that. I didn’t think.”

Sokka leans his weight against Zuko’s. He’s exhausted, down to his bones, and his eyes blink heavily. “That’s got nothin’ t’do with it,” he mumbles. “Jus’ happens. Don’t. Worry.” 

Zuko hums, disbelievingly. He takes Sokka’s weight, tries to tangle their hands together. Sokka’s are still flexing, and he doesn’t want to accidentally crush Zuko’s, so he positions the back of his hand inside of Zuko’s palm. 

They’ve known each other for a long time. Sokka hasn’t had a spasm in years, and Zuko’s never even seen one. 

“I’m still sorry,” Zuko says. 

“Gonna t-take a nap,” Sokka says quietly, unable to muster up the energy to care. 

“Want me to get you on my bed?” Zuko asks.

Sokka hums, noncommittal. He wants to say yes, but he also feels humiliated that Zuko had to deal with him as much as he has and kinda just wants to fall asleep and pretend none of this ever happened. 

“C’mon,” Zuko says, nuzzling his face into the top of Sokka’s head. “C’mon, you’re gonna be sore. Let me take care of you.”

Oh. That’s nice. The bitterness of the herbs between his teeth and his cheek are calming the shivers in his limbs, and he sucks on them absently, doing his best to help Zuko help him. 

Courting. Being with someone, but seriously. 

Sounds like marriage to him. 

“Absence of a vote is a yes,” Zuko decides, and hooks an arm under Sokka’s shoulders. 

“Cute,” Sokka manages, appreciatively. He’s planning on falling face-first onto Zuko’s bed, but Zuko catches him, making sure that he settles gently and off of his injury. 

“Okay,” Zuko says, and peels off his shoes and socks. He sets them on the floor. “Is your belt okay?” 

Sokka loves him. He loves him, just like this. Why do they have to complicate it? 

“Absence of a vote is a yes,” Zuko says again. Sokka pouts, eyes closed. 

Zuko doesn’t take his belt entirely off, just opens it enough to release the pressure on him. “Okay,” he says, voice even lower than before. “Okay, I’ll be over in the chair, if you need me.”

It takes every last ounce of Sokka’s determination to grasp Zuko’s wrist and pry his eyes open enough to glare. “‘Mere. Now.” 

“...yeah, okay,” Zuko says, and settles into the bed beside him, curling around his body like a question mark.

 _“‘Mere,”_ Sokka mutters, but Zuko just shushes him, petting his hair.

It’s so nice that Sokka falls asleep.

***

Zuko stops to collect the mail on their way back to Sokka’s apartment, Sokka thundering up the steps to unlock the door before they have to acknowledge the awkward confrontation that is Zuko not having his key. 

But Zuko’s not even looking at him. Instead, he’s staring at a note in his hand.

“Hey, that’s my mail, you know,” Sokka jokes as the door shuts behind Zuko.

“No,” Zuko says, absently. “It’s for me.”

Sokka wants to comment on Zuko giving out his address as his own, but doesn’t actually know what he would say beyond something hurtful and pointless. For once, he chooses to stay silent, wrinkling his nose as he notices the fish he’d left out the day before, intending to cook it the evening he ended up spending with Zuko. 

“It’s an invite. I uh… I’ve missed a few family dinners,” Zuko says, lips pursed. “It’s tomorrow. My sister… insists.” He looks up, smiles in a way too strained to be sincere. “My mother’s birthday.” 

Oh. Zuko’s dead mother reminds him of his own, pain blooming old and pervasive. 

“It’s also my father’s!” Zuko says, forced cheer as he folds it up. “They used to— joke about how perfectly matched they were.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sokka says, voice strained. “That’s gotta be hard for him, right? The reminder?” Ozai may be a crime boss, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss his wife. 

Zuko drops his head forward, so that his hair curtains his face. “Uh. Yeah. Not really? It’s a big party actually, but you know, friends and family only.” 

This is an eerie mirror of the situation with Bumi just this last week. 

Sokka’s not sure about a lot of things. He’s definitely not sure about forever. But last week, when he’d showed up at the party, he’d realized he should have brought Zuko. And Zuko—

Is staring at his feet, barely out of the entryway. 

“I might have something nice enough at the shop,” Sokka starts, carefully choosing his words. 

Zuko’s head snaps up. “That— that won’t be necessary,” he says, looking vaguely ill. “You shouldn’t come.”

Hm. The pain is unexpected, and Sokka feels more than a little the weight of his hypocrisy. Still, it feels like rejection, and he moves to the kitchen, their easy truce wavering. 

“It’s not— it’s not like with your family,” Zuko says, following him. “I’m not close with them. I’m close with Uncle.”

Sokka bags the fish, head swaying side to side. Yeah, that makes sense. Sokka’s never met any of Zuko’s family other than Iroh. He doesn’t even know if he has any siblings, let alone anyone extended. 

“Besides, if I brought you they’d think… they’d think the wrong thing,” Zuko says. “It would be awkward, at best.”

Suddenly, Sokka has a moment of clarity. He opens the trash chute and drops the bagged fish down it, saying, “I’m the son of the Chief, you know.” It sounds defensive. Is he being defensive? “I’m practically royalty too.” 

“...I know,” Zuko says, cautiously. “I mean, my family _is_ racist. But that’s. Not what I meant. I meant they’d think we were courting.”

That word again. Zuko’s watching him carefully, worried. Probably remembering Sokka’s spasms from the day before, wondering if the word alone will set him off. 

He’s fine. He washes his hands and turns, arms crossed. “So you’re worried about them thinking we’re dati--sorry, _courting_ , but not because I’m a tribesman and they’re racist?” 

“That is a trap,” Zuko says, crossing his own arms. “I don’t know how, but you’re trying to trap me into something.”

“I’m _trying_ to _understand_ how them being racist isn’t the main issue. Obviously I’m missing a bigger piece here.” Sokka doesn’t know why he’s picking a fight about this. He doesn’t even want to go, doesn’t want the questions and expectations that go with it. 

“It’s,” Zuko pinches his nose. “Okay, yeah. I was being an asshole. The bigger issue for me is having them know you don’t feel the same way about me. But I wouldn’t bring you, unless you did. So it wouldn’t be about— you— it would be about _me,_ if that came out. And it would suck. But I still wouldn’t really want to— I would rather never see them again than have them say things to you, like they will to me. So. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have phrased it that way.”

Zuko’s really trying this time. Sokka can see it in the way he lets himself be honest, no long pauses between his words, no overthinking. He relaxes himself in the face of it, rubbing at Zuko’s arms reassuringly. 

“I was being a dick. Everyone knows what the Fire Nation elite think of my people, I was being mean. But, Zuko, I don’t understand what you’re not getting about the fact that I _do_ love you.” Except, that Zuko hasn’t said that he loves him. 

And Zuko flinches when Sokka says it. 

“I don’t know what that means to you,” he says guiltily. “I think we have— cultural differences, on a lot of things about relationships.”

Sokka blinks. It’s not rejection. Sokka wasn’t even planning on making it a thing, the whole ‘I love you’ nonsense. Zuko’s the one who makes things...things. 

“Maybe we should talk about it?”

“I’m tired,” Zuko says, looking small. Sokka’s hands are huge on his arms, especially the way they’re hunched. “But I— I love you too. I think the same way you mean it.”

Sokka smiles big enough to hurt his cheeks. “Yeah? You haven’t said,” he admits, knocking their foreheads together. 

“I— asked you to court,” Zuko sighs. “It’s _implied._ ”

“No it’s not,” Sokka argues. “But you go on thinking that way, weirdo.”

“I’m getting you a book,” Zuko says. 

“Why are you _punishing_ me for my _love_?” Sokka moans, hands moving to Zuko’s hips and swaying them a little. 

“Maybe two books,” Zuko threatens, starting to smile himself. “It’ll be educational.”

“We don’t have education--” Sokka starts.

“Shut _up,”_ Zuko says, and bites his lip. 

Sokka laughs into the kiss, too distracted to notice when the invitation falls to the stone floor, disappearing in a rush of flame and ash when Zuko steps on it.


End file.
